I reach for strands of hair to weave them so they seamlessly fold into each other – creating a cohesive form of which I have the slightest vision of how it should look.

But then I sit unable to layer sections upon sections, threading above and below.

Sometimes it is because my hands are actually holding a baby, or zipping a jacket, or making a meal.

Sometimes I can’t even find the hair to grasp and hold onto. It feels invisible… images of lustrous strands that have yet to grow. How does one braid with invisible hair? Simply with woven dreams and visions close to the scalp, not even sure if they are ready to come alive.

Then of course there are all these strands that literally [thanks to life postpartum] have fallen out like a tree briskly shakes itself free from leaves. Certain structures of knowing have dissolved, and I’m navigating new territory again.

Then there are those miraculous moments when Elliot is sleeping and the kids are at school, and I have had enough sleep and am fed… and I can gather enough of myself to orient a layering, a listening, a knowing way of organizing over and under. Which lasts for a moment until it comes undone, the next thing beckoning for my attention.

Maybe this wanting of a complete braid comes at the end of a life : when all the strands have shed and reappeared again and again and with that wild head of hair one is able to orient the final masterpiece.

But also can how I find a relief in a wrapping in all that is right now? Even if only to come undone in a moment. Even if I’m only working with little wisps of hair that will continue to grow. Even if tomorrow I might want a bun instead…

While I am focused on tasks and productivity I simultaneously yearn for a closeness to my spirit. For I can spend my entire life crossing off items on the to do list, but I need more than that. So amidst it all, I wonder…

How do I tend to a connection to what is beautiful while ruled by accomplishing tasks?

How do I relish in moments?

What do I let drop away so that simplicity rules my days?

What can wait?

How can I weave in ritual and ceremony into an average Thursday?

How can I be fueled by the mundane?

How can I meet my spirit, again and again?

How can I uncover the sacred that lies right beneath me?

I live in these questions, for I know there isn’t one magical answer, one formula. But for this morning anyway: I found a tea pot in the back of my cabinet, and a delicate china tea cup + saucer painted with holly. I filled the tea pot and quietly sipped the tea, carefully placing the cup back to its home, as I noticed the light streaming into this table that I sit at – that my grandfather built, and that many have gathered around.

“Woman passed down to woman a way of being within herself as she carried out her daily tasks in which she relates to herself and to the task as sacred and necessary to the completion of the cosmic cycle, to be fulfilled by her, by her alone, again and again. Through that fulfilling, she renewed the earth, blessing the cycles of nature, quietly carving into the stillness of time the steps of her repeated trips for water, her winnowing of the grain, her nurturing of the earth.” – Judith Durek

Wow. Well, I have been rocked + shaken in many ways. Now, I might be on the other side of the swirling dervishes that occupied my mind. Maybe.

I’m in the process of remembering.

I remember how important meditating is, after taking a break for a while. And I remember how messy motherhood can be, and how inadequate I can feel. Plagued with : am I making the right choice for everyone? Oscillating between wanting to give everything up + devote myself solely to my children… and run away to Florence to take a jewelry course, or NYC and revert to my single way of life :)

Since Elliot was born everything felt like it disintegrated, liquified around me + now I have the opportunity to rebuild and restructure it all in a more refined way. Pairing it down to the truest form and I am fumbling and stumbling like whoa to find whatever that is. Perhaps I should let it be revealed.

I had to remind myself:

Do not betray yourself.

Tend to your happiness before you consider what is best for everyone else, which seems counter intuitive, but everyone will benefit from this. Embody your inner queen.

If your connection with your children wavers, look to + nurture your connection to yourself. When you catch yourself in self-doubt, in unkindness – forgive yourself immediately, then wrap yourself in compassionate understanding.

Why is it we deserve the most but give to ourselves the least? Let yourself cry tears of uncertainty, let grief run straight through you. Then write a new story please, I beg of you. For you are the guide and you are needed. Do it as an act of service for all the women that came before you that were unable to claim what they needed.

The act of healing is experienced in the way you live your life, and the stories you choose to believe. And so, whenever you need to remind yourself : You are an artist and a mother. You are infinitely creative + success is innate within you. You are unique beyond measure and please do not compare yourself with anyone who is doing it differently.